Love Still Stands (9 page)

“Bethel, that’s a beautiful name.” Shawn twirled his chair around as if for punctuation.
“Bethel. Bethel Graber. Nice.”

“Shawn, behave yourself. Go read a magazine until Doctor Karen and Doctor Jasmine
get here. This young lady needs some privacy to discuss her business. She doesn’t
need you sticking your nose where it don’t belong. Get along.”

Shawn grinned and wheeled back from the counter. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t mind him. If anyone ever took him up on his outrageous offers, he’d faint and
fall out of that chair.” Georgia opened the envelope Bethel had laid on the counter
and began to sift through the stack of paperwork. She nodded a few times, muttered
“uh, huh” more than once, and then dropped the papers in a neat stack in front of
her. She picked up a clipboard and shoved a new stack of papers under the clip with
an efficient flick of her wrists.

“Okay, honey, what I need for you to do is to fill out these papers. You can have
a seat right over there.” She pointed to a bank of green upholstered chairs that lined
the wall. “Take your time. Doctor Karen isn’t here yet. She drives in three times
a week to meet with the patients here for PT.”

“PT?”

“Physical therapy. That’s you.”

Bethel couldn’t help herself. She looked back at Shawn, who was thumbing through a
magazine with the title
Prevention
emblazoned across the front. He looked up and smiled as if feeling her intent gaze.

“I’m telling you, honey, he’s a case, but he’s harmless. His daddy is the sheriff.
He brought him up right.” Georgia pointed to the chairs. “Besides, he’s just so relieved
to be alive, he can’t help himself. Go on, honey, he won’t bite.”

Bethel couldn’t believe the man sitting in the chair with the dusting of freckles
so incongruous among the scars could belong to the gruff sheriff who’d done everything
in his power to make her and her family feel unwelcome when they arrived in New Hope.
“What happened to him?”

“I can’t discuss other patients with you, Miss Graber.”

“Just Bethel. Of course you can’t. It’s none of my business.”

“Go on, have a seat. Like I said, he won’t bite.”

Maybe not bite, but he did look like he might clamp onto her and not let go. He seemed
unaccountably happy for the son of a gruff man with a gun on his hip. What made him
so happy while he sat in a wheelchair, his hands knotted, his face scarred? Feeling
as if she’d been given a question she should be able to answer without help, Bethel
limped her way over to the chairs. She chose one well away from the spot Shawn occupied
in front of a low coffee table covered with magazines ranging from
Sports Illustrated
to
Home and Garden
. She began filling in the blanks on the first sheet.
Name. Address. Referring Physician. Responsible Party. Nature of ailment. Insurance
. She plowed to a stop. None. She wrote
None
in her careful handwriting. She knew all sorts of bells and whistles would go off
when Georgia saw that line.

Before she left the house earlier in the day, Luke had handed her an envelope and
told her to give them a down payment or deposit—whatever they wanted to call it—for
their services. She hadn’t peeked inside. She knew by its weight it held a substantial
amount of cash. Cash they could ill afford to spend on her health care, what with
the land purchases and moving expenses and the remodeling of the house to erase the
Englisch
electrical lines and plumbing that depended on electricity to function. Luke told
her not to worry about it. If she were to get better, it would benefit the entire
community. She had his blessing, regardless of the cost of her treatment.

“You’re not from around here, are you, darlin’?”

Shawn’s voice sounded closer than it should. Bethel looked up to find him bearing
down on her location. She pulled the clipboard close to her chest. “Nothing gets past
you.” She swallowed the rest of her retort and tried to smile. “I mean, no, I’m from
Kansas.”

“Like Dorothy? I don’t think you and Toto are in Kansas anymore. I mean, you look
like you’re from a different time.” He waved around his gnarled fingers. “Not that
you don’t look sweet in that outfit, darlin’.”

“Why do you keep calling me darling?” This time she couldn’t keep the tartness from
her voice. “You don’t even know me.”

“It’s a term of affection.”

“You don’t know me well enough—or even at all—to have affection for me.”

“Ever heard of love at first sight?”

Heat billowed around her. She ducked her head, wishing she could run for the doors.
But then, wasn’t that why she was here? To get her legs back so she could run again
if she ever needed to do it?

“Don’t look like that. I’m just joshin’ you.” He settled back in the chair, arms resting
on the padded rails. “I’ll give you time to adjust to the idea. Don’t worry, darlin’.”

“I wish you’d stop calling me that.”

“There’s something about you.” The lighthearted humor disappeared from his voice.
She looked up to see the first serious expression of the day on Shawn’s face. “You
should be someone’s darling. Maybe not mine. Maybe that hayseed guy who brought you
here. I don’t know, but someone’s.”

Bethel’s unease grew. She didn’t belong in this place, talking to this man, even if
he were in a wheelchair and posed not the least of a threat. She tottered to her feet.
“I think I should go.”

“Don’t chicken out on account of me.” A note of alarm in his voice, he held up one
hand and rolled his chair back. “I’m sorry if I got ahead of myself. I’m always doing
that these days. It just seems like there’s no time to waste.”

“Why? Why would you be in a hurry to know someone like me?”

“Easy. I saw a bunch of guys younger than we are fight and die in a war. I realized
pretty fast that life is short.”

“I don’t worry about life being short. We’re only passing through.” She stopped. She
had no idea what this Englisch man might think about God. “Our time here is a few
grains of sand, that’s all.”

“Maybe so, but don’t you want to enjoy life while you’re here?” He cocked his head,
his expression inquisitive, like a small child examining a lightning bug. “You want
to get better, don’t you? You want to walk and skip and hop and run through this life,
don’t you?”

“Yes, but how do you know what I want?”

“Because it’s what I want. It’s what everyone who comes through those doors wants.”

Bethel contemplated his eyes. They were a deep chocolate brown and full of sadness
she hadn’t noticed before in all his bluster and chatter. It was as if an old man
looked out at her from behind the face of a young man. “You don’t think you’ll get
that?”

“I don’t know, but if you go back through those doors, I know you won’t.”

He had a point. She sat.

“Good girl. I’ll leave you alone now, I promise, and no more darlin’.”

He wheeled the chair around. As he did, he glanced toward the long windows on either
side of the sliding doors. “By the way, your farmer guy is still out there.”

Bethel craned her head forward and followed his gaze. Elijah leaned against the wagon,
arms crossed, staring at the building. What ailed him? Dropping her at the clinic
had only been the first item on the list Luke had given him.
“Ach.”

She struggled to her feet again and swung to the door. There, she waved. Elijah straightened
and started toward her. She shook her head and flapped her hands in a motion that
surely said,
Go!

He wavered, hands on his hips. Finally, he climbed into the wagon. She didn’t move
until he drove away. Her face warm with perspiration, hands slick on the crutches,
she once again returned to her seat. She sank gratefully into the chair and picked
up the clipboard. Embarrassed to imagine what he must think of all this, she peeked
at Shawn.

He sat with a magazine in his lap, head down as if it were the most interesting article
ever. An unlit cigarette dangled from two fingers. His lips moved as if he were reading
silently.

Bethel had to clamp her mouth shut to keep from speaking to him. She’d only met him
minutes earlier. So why did he suddenly seem like her closest friend?

He understood. That’s why. This Englisch man might not know anything else about her
life in a Plain world, but he understood the desire to run. To hop. To skip. To stand
alone.

Shawn McCormack understood her.

Chapter 10

B
ethel sat on the end of the tissue-covered examining room table, her cold, sweaty
hands clasped in her lap, waiting. She’d been sitting there, in the skimpy cotton
gown with its gaping back, for almost thirty minutes. Inhaling the astringent scent
of cleanser, she contemplated sliding from the table and hiding behind the curtain
where she’d been instructed by Georgia to change into this silly gown. Her bare feet
didn’t touch the floor, which made her feel like a child in a high chair. She wanted
to put her clothes on and go home. She’d had enough of the crinkly noises of the tissue
paper under her. She’d also had enough of the fluorescent lights glaring overhead
and of the refrigerated air that made goose bumps pop up on her bare arms and legs.
Not to mention the tinny music wafting from an unseen source with its lyrics that
spoke of love lost and broken hearts and angry retorts. She longed for fresh air and
sunlight and the chatter of the birds.
Lord, have mercy. Let me go home
.

No. If she ever wanted to teach again, she would stay. The thought held her on the
table as tightly as a belted restraint. If she ever wanted to care for a home and
children, she would stay. She could take it, embarrassing and shameful as it felt.
She’d gotten this far. No turning back. She sighed and studied the enormous posters
hanging on the green walls. A skeleton stared back at her, his bones and muscles exposed.
An explanation of spinal cord injuries. The bones of the human skeleton. The muscles.
A litany of strange terms that meant nothing to her. Big words that might as well
have been in a foreign language. For all she knew, they were.

There was a knock on the door, and it swung open with a high-pitched squeak. Bethel
jumped. Her hands flew to the back of her gown where she tried to close the gap with
shaking fingers. Her heart pounded against her ribcage. She drew a deep breath. In
strode a dark-haired woman in a white jacket that covered a bright purple pantsuit.

The doctor—Doctor Karen, Bethel presumed—looked at the manila folder she held in her
plump hand. Her gaze warm behind rectangular, silver-rimmed glasses, she smiled and
extended her other hand. “Miss Graber. Pleased to meet you. I’m Doctor Karen Chavez.
Everyone around here calls me Doctor Karen. How are you today?”

“I’m Bethel and I’m fine.” Well, not really fine. As she shook the other woman’s hand,
Bethel struggled with what she could truthfully say. “It’s chilly in here and I really
need to put my clothes back on. The gown is…well, it doesn’t…I mean, I’m uncomfortable
in it.”

Doctor Karen laid the folder on a desk next to a computer. She plopped down on a wheeled
stool and tapped on the keyboard. Words filled up the screen. “Hmmm, don’t worry about
the gown. Everyone feels that way, I promise. I’m sorry about the air conditioning,
though. It seems to have a mind of its own. We’ll get you out of here and into the
PT room ASAP—don’t you worry. You’ll be plenty warm when you start your therapy.”

PT room. ASAP. This wasn’t her last stop? Bethel checked the clock on the wall over
the doctor’s head. She’d already been at the clinic for more than an hour. If Elijah
took his time and stretched out his errands, he might not show up at the clinic doors
for another half hour—at most.

“I really should be getting back to the farm.” She tried to read the words on the
screen. They were too far away. “We just moved here and we have much work to do to
get settled in and a school to build and the house is a mess—”

“How’s your pain level?” Doctor Karen wheeled around and faced Bethel. “I’ve reviewed
Doctor Burns’s records. He’s very thorough. He indicates you suffer pain related to
the incomplete spinal cord injury you suffered. I assume he’s explained your injury
to you. He also indicates you’re a prime candidate for physical therapy. I agree with
him that you have the potential to regain at least part of your mobility if you’re
willing to work at it.”

More foreign language. “I’m willing to work at it. I just don’t know what I’m supposed
to be working at.” Bethel skipped over the question of the pain. Some days it seemed
unbearable. On those days, she resorted to the pills Doctor Burns had prescribed.
But then she felt as if her arms and legs were overcooked noodles. Her head seemed
stuffed with more noodles and her pillow beckoned to her. “Is this work something
I can do at home? I need to watch the children and help with the cooking and the laundry.”

“You have children? How many? Your record doesn’t indicate that.”

“No, no, they’re my sister’s children. She has five. Young ones. She needs my help.”

“It’s good that you’re active. I’d like to start your physical therapy here at the
clinic. You’ll get a home program as well, but I want to supervise your movements,
at least at the beginning.” Doctor Karen returned to the computer and tapped the keys
again. “The record indicates that your internal injuries healed rather nicely. They
removed your spleen, repaired the damage to your uterus—”